Ohio Hummel and the Murder on the Orient Express
by lls-mutant
Summary: One winter night, a ballerina is murdered on the Orient Express, and an eclectic group of passengers ferret out her killer. At least, that's what's supposed to happen, if any of the glee club would just play their parts in Kurt Hummel's Magnificent and Magical Murder Mystery Dinner like they're supposed to.


Burt parked the family car in the back of the church. The wind was cold and as he got out, and he nearly slipped on a patch of black ice. "Careful," he told the rest of the car's occupants. "It's slick." He walked around to the back of the car and opened the tailgate and started pulling boxes forward. The others got out and came to help.

Kurt had hosted murder mystery dinners before, but they'd always been smaller affairs, with the neighbors across the street or Mildred and her husband or some members of the nursing home being the main (and mainly tolerant) guests. Since Kurt had gotten involved in New Directions he hadn't had as much time, but apparently something had rekindled the interest. Burt strongly suspected that something was Blaine, who looked way too excited about the prospect as he helped empty the car of boxes of dinner preparations.

"At least we didn't have to pay for the room." Carole appeared at Burt's elbow and picked up her own box. "It was nice of Sam and Quinn to get their church to let us use the space." Burt grunted an answer and Carole touched his arm. "Oh, cheer up," she said. "This will be fun."

"Easy for you to say." He glared at Carole, who was wearing an old-fashioned dress with a tiny hat perched on her head. She looked like Jackie O or something- Kurt had actually _squealed_ when she'd come down the stairs. "You're enjoying this."

"Of course I am." Carole winked at him and headed inside, and Burt had no choice but to follow.

The church basement was nicer than Burt thought it would be. He had been expecting cinderblock walls and a bare floor, sort of like a gym. Instead, there was a hardwood floor with a large, thick, well-trod rug. At the far end of the room there were several couches, all with different styles and fabric, but all large and squashy and arranged in a U shape. An upright piano stood near them, and there was a bookshelf against the wall, filled with tattered volumes. At the near end, there was an old dining set. The table was scratched- there was a particularly nasty gouge right down the center- but it was long enough for the sixteen mismatched chairs that were crowded around it. There was a folding door that Kurt opened, and when Burt peered through, he found the kitchen.

"It's rudimentary," Kurt said, setting his box on the rather large island in the center, "but it will do."

"Well, good, because this is all we got. Where do you want this?" Burt held up his box.

"Right there's fine." Kurt barely looked up. "And fix your hat, Dad. It's crooked again."

"Hey, that's how Indiana Jones wears it, right?"

"You're not Indiana Jones."

"Right." Kurt had given Burt his character sheet, and after reading it, Burt had informed Kurt that the only way he was playing this archaeologist-teacher character was if he could do it Harrison Ford style. Kurt had agreed to the fedora, but there had been quite the argument about the whip. The only way that Burt had won that one was by reminding the kid who was paying for this shindig. Because damn it, if he had to be dragged along on this thing, he was going to have _some_ fun.

Finn was rummaging through boxes. "At least we're getting food," he said. He was wearing one of those slouched hats and an old jacket. That had been another fight, when Kurt had said Finn's clothes were perfect for the street urchin type. "Does this count as my Christmas present to him?"

"No." Not if it didn't count as Burt's.

"I think it's great." Blaine was extremely cheerful in an old tux jacket, a top hat, and one of those little single-eye glasses thingies that Burt couldn't remember what they were called but made him look like the Monopoly guy. "Besides, you'll end up having more fun that you think you will," Blaine said, patting Finn on the back.

"Right." Finn didn't seem impressed. Burt shook his head warningly, although truth be told, he agreed completely. But at least these murder mystery dinners involved somebody getting murdered, so there was that.

The door opened, letting in a swirl of snow and two bundled-up figures. Kurt came out of the kitchen, smiling as Sam and Mercedes began unwrapping themselves from coats, scarves, and mittens.

"Tell me you're serving something hot to drink," Mercedes said as Sam took her coat. "Coffee, tea, hot water- _I don't care._ Just warm me up _now_."

"Coffee comes after dinner," Kurt said.

"There's Swiss Miss in the kitchen," Sam said. "I'll get you some." But before he moved, he stopped and spread his arms. "What do you think, Kurt? Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Turn around," Kurt said, studying Sam critically. Sam spun. He was wearing a long black trench coat, tight black pants, a tight black t-shirt, and then he put on a pair of sunglasses.

Kurt stared, his mouth hanging open.

"Hands off." Mercedes nudged him. "He's mine. And can I just say thank you for telling him to dress like Neo from _The Matrix_? I had to suffer through a million impressions and if I hear there's no spoon one more time I _will_ scream, but _damn._"

"Damn," Kurt echoed, still staring.

"Damn," Blaine agreed.

Finn frowned. "Why did I get stuck playing the street urchin? I could have pulled off Neo."

"No, you couldn't," Carole said. "_Damn._"

"Mom!"

"Sorry."

Sam was flushed red and ducked back into the kitchen. Mercedes hugged herself. "Not only did you schedule this on the coldest night of the year," she complained, "but the dress you put me in has no sleeves."

Kurt snapped his attention back to her. "Let me see," he said, grabbing her wrists and spreading her arms. He gasped and then pulled back, bouncing on his toes and clapping his hands. Even Burt was impressed. Mercedes' dress looked right out of that movie _Chicago_, all silver and beads and sleeveless. She smiled and imitated Sam's twirl. The beaded fringe clacked together as it flared out, and that only made her smile more.

"Gorgeous," Kurt said. "Simply gorgeous. Stay away from setting up the food- I don't want one single thing to happen to that absolutely exquisite dress."

Between the seven of them, the work went fairly quickly. The table got set, the food was finished, and decorations were put up. With the white Christmas lights, the candles, the gauzy cloths draped here and there, and the pillows, Burt had to admit that Kurt managed to transform the church basement into someplace that looked pretty exotic.

"All right," Kurt said, "here are your character packets. If you have any questions, ask me, and _don't show anyone what's in them._"

Burt had already seen what was in his, so instead of rereading the information, he spent his time trying to look over Carole's shoulder. "Back off, bub," Carole said, pushing him away playfully. "Top secret documents here." Burt couldn't resist putting his arms around her waist again. "You don't listen very well, do you?" Carole laughed. "I told you, scoot. Go harass your son if you need something to do."

"Fine." Burt sighed. He looked over at Kurt, and saw that Blaine standing with him. Blaine had his arms around Kurt's waist and was nuzzling his neck. Kurt didn't really seem to be paying attention much- in fact, he was reading his notes and sort of shrugging Blaine off. Ever so eager to be of help in this particular matter (and aware that this time, Kurt would probably thank him), Burt pulled the whip off his hip and cracked it at Blaine.

"Ow!" Blaine jumped and grabbed his ass, and then looked reproachfully at Burt. "What did you do that for?"

"Just testing," Burt said innocently. Hmm. He could get used to this whip thing. Blaine was a nice kid, but it was a parental right that he got to harass any and all boyfriends. The evening was looking up.

The door opened, letting in a flurry of snow. People were starting to arrive, and it was time to get this show on the road. So to speak.

People were showing up. Kurt couldn't help breathing out a little sigh of relief he wouldn't admit to. That was the thing about New Directions. They'd grumble and they'd mock, but they'd _come_. He didn't want to know what nickname his murder mystery dinner had been given, because it probably made Rachel Berry's Train Wreck House Party Extravaganza look flattering. But before New Directions, he would have been lucky to have five guests, most of whom his father owed a favor afterwards.

Now the basement of the church was filled with all of New Directions, who had even gone the extra mile and dug up costumes. And Blaine, who was smiling _that smile_ at him and wearing a top hat and _tails_. Kurt couldn't have been happier, for at least two minutes. Then Rachel stormed up to him, all pink netting and fury.

"We need to talk."

"What do we need to talk about?" Kurt asked, all too innocently.

"This!" Rachel waved her packet at him. She looked around, stepped closer, and dropped her voice down to an angry hiss. "I am the murder victim!"

"Yes."

"Kurt, this is unacceptable! I am the most talented actress that you have here! How can you deny others of my performance when I'm lying there dead?"

"I thought you'd appreciate it," Kurt said, smirking.

"Why would I appreciate being dead, Kurt?"

"Because you've always fantasized about your own funeral." He took Rachel's arm and turned her to face the room. "Picture it," he said, waving his hand in front of them. "You lying on the couch, pale and delicate and dead. Well, not really dead. But you get to see how everyone reacts. How _Finn_ reacts."

"Finn…"

"You get to be mourned by Finn while you're still alive to enjoy it."

"Oh." Rachel considered this.

"_And_ you get a death scene. Who else could I trust to play a death scene?"

"That's true," Rachel said, obviously turning the thought over in her mind. "A powerful and poignant death scene _is_ a good use of my talents, and there isn't anyone else who could portray the emotion that comes with the realization that the mortal coil is being snipped."

"Right." Kurt thrust a manila folder at her. "Go rehearse or something."

Rachel walked off, rummaging through the materials. Blaine stepped up and wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist.

"Did it work?" Blaine asked, his lips right next to Kurt's ear.

"We'll find out. But it's the best way I can think of to keep her from overtaking the entire game. Right now she seems content."

"Good. That means we can take a few minutes and-"

CRACK.

"Ouch! You know," Blaine turned around, "that really hurts!"

"I didn't even hit you!" Burt said.

"Well, it would hurt if you did!"

"Maybe we'll find out next time," Burt said, winking. He turned away.

Blaine scowled. "Your father hates me," he said.

"You know he doesn't," Kurt said idly, not even looking up from his notes. "He really gets into his character when we do these things. Trust me. It won't take long until he's using the whip on-"

CRACK.

"Ow!" Sam complained. "What the heck?"

"See?" Kurt said. "He's got no investment in Mercedes. Dad's just having fun with the whip." He clapped his hands and raised his voice. "All right, everyone. Let's get started. Welcome to Murder on the Orient Express! I am your conductor, Grayson Stevenson-"

"Wait, I thought your name was Kurt Hummel," Brittany interrupted.

"I will be _playing_ your conductor, Grayson Stevenson," Kurt said, eyeing Brittany sternly. "If you will all follow me into the parlor car, we will have cocktails and hors d'oeuvres."

Puck's eyes lit up. "Dude! You didn't tell me you were having booze!"

"Puckerman, stay in character."

Puck spread his hands out over his tatty robe and priest's collar. "What? Priests can drink. And by the way, Kurt, great idea, giving the Jew the Catholic priest part."

"I think it's supposed to be ironic," Quinn said sourly, smoothing her white doctor's coat over her hips.

"I think it was supposed to be revenge," Lauren said, crossing her arms and glaring. The nun's habit didn't really suit her, Kurt had to admit.

"Nonsense," Kurt said lightly. "Why would I _ever_ entertain the notion of getting revenge on Puck? We're friends. If I wanted to get revenge on him, I would have given him the saloon girl I gave Brittany."

"See, I could have pulled off the cowboy thing better than Santana," Lauren complained.

"Yeah, right. Where would you have found a jacket this awesome?" Santana was obviously pleased with her knee length leather jacket. "They don't make them in size elephant." Lauren scowled, but Sam was staring at Santana with starry eyes. She glared back. "What's with you, fish lips?"

"You look like Mal Reynolds from _Firefly_," Sam said.

Silence.

"Never mind. It's a compliment," Mercedes said. "Kurt? You were saying something?"

Kurt was a little thrown by the whole thing, just because he really wanted to know where Santana had dug up that fabulous leather duster and was already devising several outfits that could incorporate it if he managed to get it off her back. "Right," he said, ripping his eyes away. "Cocktails and hors d'oeurves in the parlor, if you would all follow me…."

The "parlor" area of the car was marked off with curtains which he'd stolen from the family room windows, and owed Carole the next three vacuuming jobs in exchange. Kurt was quite proud of the cozy space that they created, especially with the multitude of candles. The curtains enclosed two chairs and a couch (which looked better with some fabric tossed over them), the piano, and there was a low, scratched table bearing the food and a line of plastic martini glasses. Puck picked one up and sniffed.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's an apricot gingerini. It's grape juice, apricot, ginger syrup, and cloves."

"I'm not drinking this shit," Puck said, eyeing the glass warily.

"Good. More for me." Finn took the glass from Puck. "What? I helped make it. It's good."

"You helped make it?" Quinn pulled her hand back. "Never mind then."

Deciding to ignore the implication that Finn couldn't so much as wash his hands, Kurt gestured to the spread. "Please, help yourselves. Talk. Get to know one another."

"But we already know each other," Santana said.

"Actually, we don't." Sam swept in and took Santana's hand, pitching his voice lower. "I am Eno, supposed savior of all mankind. If I could have the pleasure of your name?"

Santana looked at him like he was crazy. "I could shoot you, you know," she said, brandishing a cap gun. "Just for being such a _dork_."

"Make him dance," Brittany suggested. "That's what they always do in the movies."

Kurt was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all.

The pigs in blankets were okay, but Kurt had used some sort of fancy sausage and it wasn't quite like the ones that were made with little hot dogs. But Finn really liked the tapen- tapestr- the olive dip, and found himself munching more and more of the vegetables with it. Tina had sat down to play the piano. Much to Kurt's obvious delight, she, Mercedes and Blaine were working their way through the songs of _Chicago_.

Rachel sidled up to Finn. "This is supposed to be 1928. The musical wasn't written until 1975. It's an anachronism."

Finn shrugged. He knew better than to say _you're just mad that Blaine and Mercedes and Tina are doing all the singing_ and instead figured that he should try this role-playing stuff. "Um, I'm a big fan of yours," he said.

Magic words. Rachel immediately forgot the others and spread out her pink netted skirt. "That's so nice of you to say," she said, slipping into her role. "What have you seen me dance in?"

"Uh…" Finn thought frantically. "_Swan Lake_?" It was the only ballet he knew about. "Was that playing then?"

"Yes, its first performance was in 1877," Rachel whispered, and then went back to her character. "_Swan Lake_ was one of my favorites," she said. "I was absolutely magnificent, although I think I preferred my performance in _Romeo and Juliet._ Did you see that one?"

"Er, yes?" Finn had gone over some ideas with Kurt before hand, and pulled one out now. "I used to sneak in the stage door after the curtain went up."

"Really? To the ballet?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds kind of weird and girly," Finn said, warming up to this, "but I liked the music. And it's pretty, you know? Sort of like this whole other world. And I guess it just makes me forget, I don't know, being poor."

"Oh, how _tragic._" Rachel stepped closer. "It's an amazing feeling, being an inspiration to someone," she said, catching Finn's hand. "You've really touched me. Right… here." She placed it on her breast, over her heart.

Finn's eyes widened. "Isn't it supposed to be on the other side?" he joked, barely able to speak because Rachel's boob was right under her hand and-

CRACK!

"Dad," Kurt said, "please watch the whip around the candles."

"Sorry." Burt at least looked chastised.

According to Kurt, they were supposed to mingle at this time and start giving everyone else an idea of who their character was. Frankly, Finn thought it would be easier if they just sat in the circle with "Hi! My name is…" stickers on- it was _hard_ to remember everyone's fake names. It was also kind of funny to watch how into it different people got. Some people, like Sam and Tina, were giving it everything they had and clearly enjoying every second. Others, like Santana and Quinn, could barely be bothered and spent more time complaining (Santana) or reading an old book that looked like a Christian romance novel (Quinn) instead of talking to everyone else. But Finn did pick up that Artie was supposed to be a British police officer, Quinn's doctor was the girl kind and was apparently a prickly feminist type (or maybe Finn shouldn't have asked some of the questions he did- it was hard to tell with Quinn), and that Mike and Tina were supposed to be a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. He also found out more than he ever wanted to know about Rachel's character, including that she had been dancing since she was two, had been a prima ballerina for years, and had taken out another ballerina's knee- or at least, paid someone to do it. It seemed like something someone would be ashamed of, but Rachel just said, "Really, it's show business. It's the only business where cut throat is quite literal, and if you want to be a star, you have to be prepared to do some terrible things."

Mercedes happened to be walking by as Rachel said that, and she stopped in her tracks. "You _are_ acting, right?"

"You couldn't tell?" Rachel asked, alarmed. "Surely you must understand I would never do something so terrible to a fellow artist."

Mercedes caught Kurt's eye, and both of them smirked. "Uh-huh," Mercedes said.

Rachel drew herself up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mercedes looked like she was quite willing to tell her, but Kurt broke in. "And dinner is served." Finn mouthed his thanks at him, and Kurt winked and then led them into the dinner table.

At least there was food, Finn thought as he sat sandwiched in between Lauren and Quinn, and across from Rachel, who was sitting between Puck and Tina. He was supposed to be giving her longing looks and acting all secretly in love with her, but it was kind of hard when Mike and Tina kept feeding each other food on the one side of him and Puck and Lauren kept playing footsie on the other. (Which would be a lot easier to ignore if Puck didn't keep running his foot up Finn's shin by accident. He finally had to put a stop to it with a sharp kick to Puck's ankle.) Quinn spent dinner focused on her plate.

"This really is good, Kurt," Carole said, mopping up the last of her pasta sauce with her bread. "Would you mind if I stole a little more?"

"Be my guest." Kurt moved towards the kitchen, but Carole stood up.

"No, sweetie. I can get it. You stay out here and run the game." She picked up her plate and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Dude," Finn said, as Puck's foot crept up his shin again. "Would you _stop_?"

"We're going through a tunnel!" Kurt suddenly shouted, and turned out the lights. He fired up some app on his phone, and the sound of train wheels on a track and a long whistle filled the room. It was really kind of weird and maybe a little stupid, but at least Finn could just _eat_. Finally, Kurt turned the lights back on.

"That was a tunnel?" Santana was not impressed.

"Use your imagination," Kurt said primly, sitting back down and picking up his fork.

Rachel winked at Finn and then picked up her drink, but what she saw startled her. "Wait! Why is my drink red?"

"Pretend it's not."

"It's Sprite, Kurt. Sprite's not supposed to be red."

"I assure you, it's just grenadine, and it's quite delicious. Drink it."

"But it's _red!_"

"Think about it, Rachel!"

Rachel's face lit up. "Oh. Oh! Of course." She tapped her fork against her glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, I propose we make a toast," she said, standing up and raising her glass. "To tonight, and the honor you all have, of sharing a train compartment with me."

"Oh lord," Mercedes groaned.

"I know that many of you have not ever had the opportunity to see me dance," Rachel continued, fully relishing her role. "But tonight, I will be able to perform in car C. It will be a free performance, where I require only your applause and adulation as payment." She smiled a smile that Finn knew was supposed to be gracious. "I look forward to seeing you all there. But before that, I'd like to sing a song, dedicated to this wonderful and magical night that you have been able to spend with me."

"You've got to be kidding me," Lauren said, putting her head down in her arms as Rachel launched into "It's All Coming Back to Me Now."

"Aren't you going to stop her?" Finn mouthed at Kurt.

Kurt shrugged. He was listening intently to Rachel- who really was killing the song, dramatics and all- with a wistful look on his face. Finn was going to comment when he realized Rachel was standing right in front of him. She cupped his cheek, singing softly while she looked straight into his eyes, and damn, Finn found himself melting in front of her, just a little. Rachel sat down in his lap, and Finn put his arm around her waist and did his best to look desperately in love. He was never going to admit that that part was kind of easy.

The song ended with Rachel staring into his eyes, and just as he leaned in to kiss her, Rachel pulled back dramatically. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't," she announced to the entire table. "I mustn't…." She held up her glass again. "To all of you," she said, and then tearfully drank.

"So why is it red?" Mike asked Tina, but before Tina could answer, Rachel dropped her glass. The red liquid spread across the white tablecloth like blood, and Rachel clutched at her throat.

"Can't… breathe…" she gasped. She staggered. Finn looked around, unsure of if Rachel was acting or serious. She could be choking. He got to his feet and grabbed her elbow. "You okay?"

"Can't… getting… weak."

"Rachel!"

"She's acting, doofus," Santana said.

Rachel, on the other hand, leaned against Finn, wheezing. "I think… I think I'd better lie down. I'm so tired."

"Uh, okay." Finn helped her over to the couch. Rachel lay down, her eyelashes fluttering.

"You're so kind," she murmured. "I know that you're only a poor boy and I'm a world famous talented dancer, but I think our love could have been an epic love for the ages." She reached up and touched Finn's cheek again. "I could… I could have loved…." Her hand fell down, and her head fell to the side as she closed her eyes.

Finn stared at her for a long moment.

"Finn," Kurt hissed. "Rachel is _dead._ Your character is secretly madly in love with her. Mourn!"

Rachel cracked one eye open expectantly.

"Oh. Okay. Erm." Finn cleared his throat. "Oh, no. The love of my life is dead! Whatever shall I do?" He looked at Kurt. "Is that good?"

"It was kind of lame," Mike said.

"Dude, even I could do better than that," Puck said.

"_You_ were crying during her swan song." Lauren elbowed Puck.

"I've gotta say, it was kind of stiff," Burt agreed. "You've gotta get into it a bit, Finn. It's the only way to make it beara-" he caught Kurt's glare. "Erm, believable."

"You can do better, Finn," Blaine said, stepping up and clapping him on the shoulder.

"How?" Finn said. "I've never had to do this mourning thing before."

"Like this. Fall down on your knees and take her hand," Blaine said, demonstrating. Rachel hastily closed her eyes and went back to her "dead" face. "Then cup her cheek, and gaze at her with tears hovering in your eyes." Blaine blinked a few times, and then yes, there were tears in his eyes. "Then you sniffle a bit, and say something like, 'No. No… this can't be happening. You are too beautiful. Too….'" He sat back on his heels and looked away.

"And I never got to tell you how I feel," he continued. "You have been the love of my life, the shining star in my darkness. And yet, I could not approach you, because your radiance, your beauty, your _talent_ was so intense that I was intimidated. I could not approach you, and now… now I wish I had. Because now your star has gone out and I will never be able to tell you how I feel." He brought Rachel's hand up to his cheek- his _wet_ cheek. "Good night, my angel, my star," Blaine whispered. "May your light shine forever in the streets of Heaven."

"Okay, dude?" Finn began. "No. That was incredibly lame and I-"

But Rachel sat up. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Blaine, that was beautiful!" She threw her arms around his neck. "You should have said something! You should have-"

"Rachel," Kurt said, "get your hands off my boyfriend. You're _dead._"

"Are you deaf?" Santana asked Rachel. "That was the cheesiest, most nauseating thing since I got dragged to _The Notebook._"

"I loved that movie," Puck muttered.

"People!" Rachel said, her hands on her hips. "This is my _death._ Could you show a little respect, please? You are interrupting the flow of the scene as Blaine-"

"Hey!"

"Er, Finn, mourns me." She fell back onto the couch and let her eyes flutter shut. "Let's get back to the scene."

And now all eyes were on Finn. He swallowed, shoved Blaine out of the way, and knelt down by the couch. This was about as awkward as it could get. "Um…."

"It's strange," Kurt prompted, "how a healthy girl so young would just keel over and die."

"But she's not dead," Finn said. "She's just acting."

Kurt stomped his foot in exasperation. "And so am I, Finn. Can we _please_ move this along and come to the correct conclusion that Coralina was murdered so we can get on with the rest of the mystery?"

"Oh. Oh! Right! I get it!" Finn smiled, and then sat back on his heels. "Um, how do I come to that conclusion?"

"Oh, for crying out loud. Let's just pretend you called me already, all right?" Quinn said. She surged forward, adjusting her white coat. She picked up Rachel's wrist, held it for a minute while staring at her watch, and then dropped her arm unceremoniously. She leaned over and pried Rachel's eyes opened (Rachel winced), and then thumped her on the forehead with her knuckles.

"Great bedside manner," Mercedes said.

Quinn shrugged. "She's dead. Probably murder."

"What evidence do you base that on, Doctor?" Sam asked, swishing his trench coat dramatically, and lowering his voice to (try to) sound menacing.

"On the fact it's a murder mystery game, Sam," Quinn snapped. "Can we please just move on and get to the good parts?"

"This _is_ the good part. Acting it out." Sam's voice dropped back down to its depths. "What do you base that on, Doctor?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "The fact that people murder each other when they get annoyed, and certain people in this room- excuse me, train- are being very annoying whether they're dead or alive."

"But who would do such a horrible thing? Who would kill a dancer?"

"Everyone who ever met her," Santana said.

Mercedes nudged Artie with her elbow, and he jerked to wakefulness. "Oh. Right. Um, I think we should organize some sort of investigation."

"Excellent idea, sir," Kurt said, sweeping in and looking very relieved. "If you would be so kind as to head it up, especially before someone else gets killed."

"Wait." Rachel sat bolt upright. "Someone else is getting killed?"

"Rachel, you're dead. Lie back down!"

"But someone else- you didn't tell me someone else is getting killed! I thought that my death scene would be the only death scene!"

"You didn't ask," Kurt said. "And lay back down before I kill you for real."

"But-"

"Rachel, honey. Lay down. Trust me on this," Carole said.

Grumbling and glaring at Kurt, Rachel lay back down. She crossed her arms angrily and closed her eyes, tilting her chin up.

"Okay," Artie said, wheeling to the center, "I guess we ought to start with the murder weapon, right? Kurt nodded. "She drank right before she died."

"Aha!" Sam pointed to the ceiling with a flourish. "Poison!"

"I guess so."

"Poison. Definitely poison," Santana said, nodding.

"But who had poison?" Carole asked.

"Guess we should start by searching everyone here." Puck leered at Lauren. "I'll search you, Sister Sexy." He started edging her habit up and stopped. Everyone paused. Everyone waited. Carole nudged Burt.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was checking the scores." Burt slipped his cell back in his pocket. "I'll get him next time. Ahem. But we should search everyone here. I'll start with this lady here." He gestured to Carole. Finn caught Kurt's eye, and both of them winced.

Eventually, with squawks of indignation, bickering about whose hands should be on who, and accusations of ass-groping, the conclusion was reached that no one had the bottle of poison. "So, what now?" Finn asked. And then, because Rachel had one eye open and was fixing him with the glare of doom, he added, "I kind of need to avenge my love or something."

Rachel closed her eye again and smiled.

"Well, we're on a train. It's got to be on here somewhere," Blaine said. "Let's look for it."

"Come on," Carole said, nudging Burt. "I want to see Ohio Hummel in action here." Finn, Sam, Puck, and Artie immediately backed her up with an impromptu a capella chorus of the Indiana Jones theme song.

"Cute, guys," Burt said, but he brandished his whip and puffed out his chest. "Come on. Let's search this place."

With a clear-cut, well-defined goal, New Directions actually stood a chance at getting something done, even if it meant pillows tossed to the floor and people trying to search under the rugs. Finn watched them all, noticing the pleased look on Kurt's face. Something was finally going like he planned.

"Finn?"

"Rach, you're dead. Kurt's going to kill you for real if you keep this up. He's not joking about that."

"I know, but… could you mourn me some more? Please? It would be in character, so Kurt wouldn't even be mad- he'd just be glad you're actually getting into it." She looked sad and wounded, a look Finn just couldn't resist. He sighed heavily and sat down.

"Sure. Do I have to talk, or can I just sit here and gaze at your face?"

"That's acceptable, but a little emoting would keep Kurt off your back better."

Finn barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. It was just his luck that his girlfriend would be even more demanding dead than she was alive.

Burt had done these murder mystery dinners before, so he had in idea of how these things went. If they found the poison on someone, it would be planted. Depending on the skill (and creativity) of the murderer, they usually either planted the poison on someone else or hid it somewhere. The kids weren't all that creative, so he wasn't that shocked when Carole opened up the top of the piano and found the bottle- bedazzled and bearing the word "Poison" in a rather loopy script- resting on the strings.

"So, now what?" Lauren asked. "It's not like we can dust for fingerprints or anything." She looked doubtfully at Artie. "Can we?"

"Not after I just had my hands all over it, thank you," Carole said.

"Well, when Rachel was poisoned," Artie said slowly, "Tina was sitting next to her. And Puck, but he's a priest."

"And Quinn was nearby," Santana said. "Admit it, Fabray, you killed Rachel."

"As much as I'd like to, no, I didn't," Quinn sighed. "Besides, I'm a doctor. Do no harm, right?" she picked at the lapels of her coat.

"I know we keep joking about it," Blaine said, "but who _would_ want to kill her? If we can't get any clues from the bottle, maybe we can from the motive. So who's more likely to kill Rachel? Tina or Quinn?"

"Quinn."

"Quinn."

"Definitely Quinn."

"Hey!" Quinn said. "I didn't do it!"

"Besides," Sam said, "it's supposed to be did the doctor do it, not Quinn. Quinn isn't in this game."

"It does seem kind of obvious for Quinn to kill Rachel," Mike admitted. "Kurt wouldn't set it up like that."

"Right. So it's not Quinn," Tina agreed.

"Which means… it's you? You did it?" Mike stared at her.

"Nope. Not me."

"But you were next to her!" Mike said. "It had to be you or Quinn, and if it's not Quinn-"

"Wait!" Mercedes said. "It didn't have to be Tina or Quinn. The lights were out. Anyone could have gotten up and done it."

"Oh. Yeah. That makes it harder," Sam said, frowning.

"A lot harder," Blaine agreed.

"I feel like we're back at the beginning, except Rachel is dead," Brittany said. "Can I go home now?"

"Wait," Finn said. "Rachel told me something- I just remembered. She said that there was this girl that she'd, like, whacked her knee or something. It was some ballerina thing. So maybe there's a motive or something."

"Which means, what?" Santana asked. "We all go around the room and say why we wanted to kill Rachel?"

"That could work," Brittany said. "I'll start."

"I find this all very suspect," Rachel said, sitting up on the couch again. "Surely, there must be a better way to figure out who I might have inadvertently offended in my dedicated and determined path to stardom."

"Inadvertently offended?" Finn asked. "You told me that you had her knee knocked out!"

"Has anyone been supposed to be walking with a limp all night?" Sam asked suspiciously. "Or- wait! Do we know it was a her? Could she have done it to Artie?"

"Why would I take out a male dancer?" Rachel asked. "They're not the competition." Burt cracked the whip in her direction. "What?" she asked. "I'm not all over anyone!"

"Yeah, but you're dead."

Rachel lay back down, crossing her arms. "I don't know why you're complaining about me," she grumbled. "I'm the only one taking my own death seriously."

"Maybe we ought to have dessert while you all discuss it," Kurt suggested. "Blaine? If you wouldn't mind helping me in the kitchen?"

Blaine was at Kurt's side in a second. "Sure."

The rest of the group dissolved into talking, which Burt wanted to believe was them comparing stories and motives but probably was more about who was dating who and whatever was on TV last night or whatever teenagers talked about these days. He eyed the kitchen suspiciously, even though he knew damn well that Kurt and Blaine were actually just talking and getting dessert out. Not that Kurt was above a little indiscreet making out, but the evening was already nothing like Kurt had planned, and Burt was positive that was driving him insane. He did wish there was something he could do to help, but in the end all he could do was crack the whip. Literally.

"If people would just stay in character for even two minutes, it would go so much more smoothly!" Kurt fumed as he slammed the refrigerator door open.

"What did you expect?" Blaine asked, leaning his head against the cabinet and looking at Kurt with sympathy. Which was nice, except sympathy didn't exactly help right now. "It's New Directions," Blaine continued. "They've never exactly been…"

"Been what? Organized? Disciplined? Prone to listening to the assignment?"

"They've never known good taste when they see it."

"That's true," Kurt said, aware that Blaine was patting him down but liking the manner well enough to go with it.

"So, come on," Blaine said. "Let's serve dessert and get this finished up, and then maybe we can manage to sneak away after and-"

"You want my dad to whip you again?"

"His ears aren't that good, Kurt. He's in the other room."

"He'll know." Kurt finished putting the cups of chocolate mousse on the tray and then picked it up. "Come on. They'll at least be happy to see this."

He was right about that. It was a hoard of locusts that gravitated towards chocolate mousse. In seconds, his tray was almost empty. Kurt handed one cup to Rachel, who sat up to eat it, and then sat down to eat his own cup. Blaine stopped behind him and rubbed his neck for a few minutes, and Kurt decided that it was a testament to his cooking that his father was too busy digging into the mousse to pull out the whip. Kurt finished his portion, sighed, and slipped out from under Blaine's warm hands.

"Time for part two. We're coming up to another tunnel!" he announced loudly, and then flipped the lights off. Even over the train sounds from his phone, the loud _snap_ of a cap gun and a heavy thump were perfectly audible. He gave his killer a moment, and then turned the lights went up. Quinn was on the ground.

"Hey, Doc." Mike knelt down and nudged her. "Doc! Doc!" He shook her harder.

"Ow," Quinn muttered, not opening her eyes. "Stop it."

Mike pulled back, eyes open wide. "She's dead!" he said.

"Did you check her pulse and all that?" Tina asked.

"No, I just assumed she's dead, with the gun thing and all."

"I'm dead," Quinn confirmed, lying on her back, arms spread out. "Completely and utterly dead."

"Why does no one in this room seem to understand that corpses can't talk?" Kurt asked.

"Zombies," Brittany answered. "They're zombies."

From her perch on the couch eating her chocolate mousse, Rachel was looking very satisfied. "I'm glad I got poisoned," she said. "It makes for a much better death scene." The smugness in her voice was undeniable.

"Shut up," Quinn said. "We can't all chew the scenery."

"It wasn't scenery chewing! It was a nuanced, moving performance that-"

"You _sang!_"

"All right, that's enough!" Burt said, getting in between the two of them. "Rachel, eat your dessert, Quinn, let's figure out who murdered you."

"Well, it's the same person who murdered Rachel, right?" Puck asked.

"Whoever murdered Rachel used poison," Artie said, ignoring Kurt. "Quinn was shot."

"Yeah, but if I was killing people- which I'm not, I'm just saying- if I was killing people, I wouldn't go around using the poison twice, cause everyone's gonna be extra careful of their drinks, you know?" Puck said. "A different weapon is a good idea."

Burt looked around. "Where's our detective? Shouldn't he be heading up the case?"

"I guess," Artie said, "but I really have no idea what I'm supposed to do here."

"Hey, wait…" Finn was looking thoughtful. "Didn't Santana have a gun?"

"Don't you even try to pin this on me!" Santana said, bristling up. "Or I swear to God, I'll shoot _you_."

"Sounds guilty to me," Finn said smugly.

"Like anyone would believe you. Your farting infant look makes you look like you're perpetually guilty anyway, and it's your ex-girlfriend."

"Not in the game, though," Kurt said. "Why is nobody getting this?"

"I get it," Mike said, patting Kurt sympathetically on the shoulder. "But where _is_ your gun?"

"My gun?" Santana's hand moved to her holster, and her eyes widened in panic. "It is gone! But I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it!"

"And why should we believe you?" Artie asked.

"Because what motive do I have, doofus? She's a doctor. If it was Finn-"

"We'd have you locked up right now," Artie finished for her. "Speaking of which, Kurt? What _do_ we do when we catch the murderer? You never gave me handcuffs or anything."

"Didn't I?" Kurt frowned, and then turned to where Burt was standing. "Dad? Did you see the handcuffs in the boxes?"

"Nope." Carole came out of the kitchen and kissed him. "Did you see them?"

"See what?"

"The handcuffs."

Recognition dawned on her face. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kurt honey. I took them out of the box to put the mousse cups in. I must have forgotten to put them back."

Kurt huffed in resignation. "Fine." He turned back to Artie. "We'll make do. But first, can we please even make an attempt at finding the killer?"

"And my gun? I like that gun," Santana said.

"But it's got to be Santana-"

"How can I shoot anyone without a gun?" Santana asked Finn, who opened his mouth to answer, and then looked confused.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess not."

"She could have hidden it." Sam was clearly enjoying the Santana-is-guilty theory. "I say we search for it."

The resultant search was even less enthusiastic than the search for the poison had been. Kurt watched in mounting panic and frustration. If things didn't turn around soon, this would be _worse_ than Rachel's party. At least Rachel's party had had alcohol. His father was rummaging around in the refrigerator, for crying out loud, and even Mike and Sam were floundering.

A blood-curdling scream made everyone stop.

"What the hell?" Puck asked.

"I didn't-" Kurt took off back towards the bathrooms. To his utter shock, he found Blaine lying on the floor. "Blaine! Are you all right?"

Blaine's eyes were closed, but he nodded. "Imagine I'm in a pool of blood," he whispered. "My throat's been slit."

Mike was standing over Kurt's shoulder. "Maybe we should take the killer seriously now. This is the third murder."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Please. It's not like any of us are going to get killed for real."

"Wait." Kurt frowned. "Blaine wasn't supposed to die."

"I'm dead!" Blaine insisted, getting to his feet. "The murderer put a knife to my throat and slit it! I was told that I was dead!" He headed over to the couch where Rachel and Quinn were.

"But you're not supposed to die!" Kurt said called after him. "Do you really think I'd kill you off?"

"Not without a solo."

"So who killed him?" Kurt looked around. "Who killed Blaine?" He looked around frantically, but the only answer was Mike's shrug. Even Sam wasn't over here. Kurt felt the situation finally slipping out of his hands. "Who killed Blaine?"

Finn came up beside him and put his hand on his shoulder. "Kurt, I'm not sure anyone cares anymore. I think the game's kind of petered out."

It was true. Blaine had joined Rachel and Quinn on the couch, where apparently glee zombies played Go Fish. Sam was strumming his guitar and showing Mercedes some chords, Artie and Puck were playing a game on Artie's phone, Lauren and Tina were swapping shoes, and Santana and Brittany had their heads close together and were giggling. Mike shrugged again, indicating his own surrender, and then wandered off in Tina's general direction.

"All right," Kurt said, his shoulders drooping.

"Hey. Don't look so down." Finn clapped him on the back. "Everyone had a good time."

"Really. And how would you know that?"

"They're still here, right?" Finn pointed out. "They would have left if they weren't having fun. And you didn't even have to break out the booze like Rachel did to get people to stay."

That thought cheered Kurt. He smiled up at Finn. "Thanks."

Finn grinned back.

"I'm kind of disappointed," Carole said late that night as they undressed for bed. "We never did find out who the murderer was."

"Mmm." Burt glanced at her.

"What?" Carole was all innocence.

"You know, it's awfully funny that you got up and got seconds of the pasta right before Kurt turned the lights out at dinner. And _you_ found the grenadine bottle hidden in the piano."

"So?" Carole said.

"And then when Quinn was shot, you had your purse with you," Burt said. "You _never_ carry your purse if you can help it. I've had to go back in and get it from more places because you keep forgetting it. And I found the gun was hidden in the refrigerator, right after you snuck off to steal more chocolate mousse."

"How'd you know I did that?"

"You kissed me right after."

"Oh."

"What I can't figure out, though, is where you stashed the knife you used to kill Blaine," Burt said. Carole reached down into her dress and pulled a plastic knife out from her cleavage, and Burt cracked up.

"I figured none of the kids would ever look there," she said. "So you figured it out?"

"You killed your son's current girlfriend, your son's ex-girlfriend, and your stepson's boyfriend," Burt said, still laughing. "It had to be you, because it sure as hell wasn't me. How much did you bribe Kurt to let you be the killer?"

"He's not doing dishes this week," Carole admitted sheepishly. "Although I might lose a night for killing Blaine."

"You can always blame me," Burt said.

"He'll know it wasn't you. You were too busy cracking that whip everywhere. Which, by the way, was _very_ hot."

Burt frowned. "You were joking about bringing that to bed, right?"

"Yeah. Definitely." Carole smirked. "But I did confiscate these..." she dangled the handcuffs in front of him.

Burt grinned. "I wondered what happened to them. Guess that's another mystery solved."

Carole groaned. "Enough of that, Ohio Hummel. Or I _will_ get that whip."

"You take all the fun out of everything." Carole held up the handcuffs again, and Burt sighed. "Well, not everything. You were a pretty great killer, too."

"Mmm." Carole grinned slyly. "Take off the hat, and let's find out what else I'm great at."

Burt was only too happy to obey.


End file.
